The Sword and her Shield
by TurianRebel
Summary: Follows several all new characters. Takes place after Dragon Age 2. All new characters were designed and written by me. Please do not use them without my permission. Will be rated M for future content. DA:O and DAII characters will be there too. Enjoy!
1. The Runaway

**[Author's note: As stated, this story follows all new characters, as well as ones we are all familiar with. I would gladly take any constructive criticism/comments on this. I feel like this is a big risk, but I loved these new characters so much that I just had to share them.]**

Chapter 1: The Runaway

She stood there in silence and held still as she analyzed the sounds of the forest. There was a particular pattern to the sound of the wind as it went through the trees. There was a break, a twig snapping a few feet away. She turned around to face the sound and hurled a dagger sharply in that direction. She heard the dagger cut into the flesh of something, and waited.

A hunter slumped forward from the darkness, her dagger deep in his skull. He took a few steps, then collapsed on the dirty forest ground. She dropped her hand, which was still in the dagger throwing position, and made her way over to the man. She knelt down beside him and dug through his pockets, looking for anything of use. She gathered a few sovereigns and ripped her dagger out of him. The sound of her dagger slipping out of his head was unpleasant to say the least, but she had become used to it.

She strapped her finely carved blade back onto her belt and began the trek back to her camp. After a few steps, she noticed the overhanging branches from the trees in front of her began to bend with invisible force. She realized a force spell was coming right at her, but by the time she noticed it, it had already knocked her down.

She let out a grunt as her back hit the ground hard. The spell had knocked the wind out of her, and she continued to lie on the ground, gasping for air. She could hear more twigs snapping and leaves rustling as something, or someone, was approaching her. She attempts to turn her head and see, but the whiplash caused by the spell made her neck sear in pain.

Suddenly, a man came into her field of vision, blocking the sky. He tilted his head sideways in curiosity, his features obscured by the shadow he was casting. "Interesting," the man said. He tilted his head the other way now, and she struggled to make out any part of his face other than a silhouette. "You were not who I was expecting," the man speaks again. His voice is calm and genuine, and she begins to feel like this man has no intention to harm her. After all, she's completely powerless, and he has not attempted anything.

The man stands up and extends his hand out to her. She looks at his hand for a moment, noting the bandages on his fingers. He shakes his hand slightly, coaxing her silently to take it. She hesitates, but decides she's in too much pain to argue. He pulls her up to her feet quickly, and she hisses in pain.

She tries to look at him again, her eyes slowly adjusting to the shadows cast by the trees. Her vision finally clears, and she can now make out her second attacker who turned out not to be an attacker at all.

The man had the darkest brown hair that barely kissed the top of his shoulders. He wore a light armor made of leather and a deep blue fabric. His hands were covered haphazardly with bandages, something she assumed the man had done to himself. His most striking feature though, was the fact the she couldn't see the man's eyes. They were blocked by a strip of cloth. She looked past him for a moment to see the dark grey embellished staff he had attached to his backside.

"I didn't mean to hit you," he said, breaking her stare. She looked back at his face, bewildered by the cloth covering were his eyes should be. "Do you speak the same language? I know some Arcanum, but nothing that's very useful outside of a bar or a brothel," the man says with a slight chuckle.

_I know Arcanum_, she thought to herself. She continued staring at him, unsure whether to run or wait for him to do something. Finally she spoke. "I can understand you," she says. He cracks a slight smile and shifts his weight to one side.

"Ah, good. I was really hoping I didn't have to attempt Arcanum. It's so bad I'm certain it would kill small animals." She laughs at his obvious attempt at humor, though she tried not to.

"Let's not kill all the squirrels," she says to the man. He takes a few steps forward and then bows slightly. She's taken aback by his sudden display of good manners.

"I'm Martan Durin, of Kirkwall. I apologize again for the hit in the face."

"Kirkwall?" she says wrinkling her brow. "What are you doing this far away from Kirkwall?" He _looks _down at his feet, kicking at the dirt nervously.

"And I should ask you what you are doing so far from Ferelden," he says as he continues to spread the dirt. This strikes her as odd. _How did he know I was from Ferelden? _She wonders if she has some sort of accent that she isn't presently aware of.

"Do I…know you?" she says as she takes a short step in his direction. He shifts his weight to the other side.

"No…I have never seen you before. Your clothes smell faintly of mud that I recognize is from Ferelden, so I assumed that is where you are from. No?" She looks all over her body for traces of said mud, but sees nothing. She looks back at the strange man and he can feel her eyes on him.

"I know what you're thinking," the man says, waving his hands animatedly as he talks. "You're wondering how I can see you at all." She nods slightly. He slowly walks around her. "It's the magic, you see. I am technically blind, but the lyrium can help me see." She follows him with only her eyes as he continues to slowly make a circle around her. "It's…a vicious cycle. I use the lyrium to see, but in doing so, have become addicted, like a renegade Templar."

He completes his walk around her, and stops directly across from her. He hesitates, but then takes a few slow steps up to her. She flinches back and he sticks out his hand in protest. He takes his other hand an lifts a part of the fabric that is covering up his eyes.

She jumps back slightly as she looks into his eyes. All the color in his eye is a faded grey with a dull white pupil. It was pretty obvious that he is definitely telling the truth. She stares at his eyes intently for a moment, until he suddenly feels uncomfortable and tugs the cloth down back over his eyes. "So," he says, "I have been truthful with you. Are you intending to say anything to me?"

"Why did you hit me? That was quite painful," she crosses her arms at him.

"I was initially following the hunter," he says, pointing down to the hunter she felled before he hit her. "I knew he had gone in this direction, and I blindly threw a force spell at him. Again, I apologize."

"Why would you blindly cast a spell at someone? I don't blindly throw knives at my foes. By the time they see me, they are probably already dead."

"Hmm. Interesting. I can heal that up for you," he says as he motions around his own neck. She thinks for a moment, remembering her father's obvious objections to mages. He had told her that there were few mages that he could trust, and to assume that they will turn on you at any time. She thought about it again, realizing her parents aren't here, so why would it matter?

"I guess you could." Martan holds out his hands and sends light blue waves of magic toward her body, releasing the tension that had troubled her neck and shoulders. The healing magic was cool and refreshing.

"There," he says, lowering his hands. "Is that better?" She tugs on the back of her neck and then gently rotates her shoulders in soft circles. She nods and throws a light smile on him.

"Are you traveling to Orlais?"

"Perhaps, why?"

"There are at least five other hunters out here. I would be more than happy to travel with you." She replays his words in her head. _Five hunters? How did he find fire when I could only detect two?_

"Five hunters? Are you sure?"

He chuckles lightly to himself. "Believe me, they weren't after me." She looks hard at him, unsure whether or not to trust him. She is certain she could take down the hunters alone, but what if they all converged on her at once? She decided there was no better way then to take the blind man with her.

"I suppose that is alright," she turns and begins to continue on her westbound trail. After only a few feet, she turns quickly on her heels to face him again. "You hit me with another spell like that," she says as she points a finger at him. "And I'll put one between your eyes." Martan can detect the joking tone of her voice and smiles lightly, saying nothing. She turns back to face the forest and they head on toward Orlais.


	2. The Witching Hour Pt1

**[Author's note: I realized that I accidentally put a note on the bottom of the first chapter that was intended for this chapter. Apologies for any confusion.]**

Chapter 2: The Witching Hour Pt.1

The king sits at his throne, hopelessly nodding off to sleep. As he drifts off, a red-haired Seeker lets herself in. She stands there for a moment, arms crossed, and watches as he sleeps.

"Alistair!" she says suddenly, jolting him awake. He instantly recognizes the Orlesian accent in her voice.

"Whatever it is, I didn't do it," he says as he rubs his eyes.

"I can't imagine you do much at all while you're sleeping." She raises a red-haired brow at him.

"Being a king is the least exciting thing that has ever happened to me. After all, I've killed hundreds of darkspawn, _and _an Archdemon. You can't imagine how boring this is." The red-haired Seeker takes a few steps closer to his throne and extends a book out to him. It's a dark leather-bound book of a large volume. It's cover has the symbol of the Seeker's shaped into it. "What is this?" Alistair says as he turns the book around in his hands.

"It's the story of the Champion of Kirkwall."

"Hmph. How ever did you get _that_?" Alistair says as he flips the book to a random spot. Whatever he reads causes him to raise an eyebrow

"We acquired the information from one of her companions."

"Interesting. But how does this have anything to do with me?"

"We need to find the Champion," she says, taking the book back from him.

"Well I have no idea where she is."

"We know, but we know someone who might." She watches as he twists his face up in confusion.

"Then…why are you asking me?"

"We believe your son may know her location."

"My 'son'? Leliana, the Hero and I never had children."

She gives him an agitated look. "No, the child you bore with Morrigan."

"Oh…" Alistair says with fake enthusiasm. "_That _son."

"Yes. We need you to bring him here."

"The bastard son that I've never met? Isn't he some old god reincarnated?"

"I believe not."

Alistair looks away from Leliana as he tries to push the memory of his night with the witch of the wilds out of his mind. Leliana takes a few more steps toward him and sits on the stairs before him.

"Look, just do what you can. The Seekers would appreciate it." Alistair rolls his eyes at her and she shoots him a harsh stare.

"I cannot make any promises," he says with an exasperated sigh. He props his elbow up on the arm of his chair and rests his head in it. He closes his eyes again.

**Xxxxx**

The blind man and the rogue walk on through the forest, saying nothing for over an hour. Finally, Martan takes a breath and begins to speak.

"I never got your name," Martan says, tilting his head subtly in her direction.

She looks at him out of the corner of her eye. "I never gave it."

"Ah, so you're nameless then?" She tries hard not to smile at his decent attempt at a joke, but it was hard not to.

"It's Gladia."

"Oh. That is beautiful. Does it mean anything?"

Gladia picks up her pace a bit, moving from her position beside Martan, to one in front of him. She can feel him looking at her body, but doesn't comment on it.

"It's a play on an Arcanum word. It means…" she twists around and faces him. Then in one quick motion, she pulls one of her blades from her back, spins it around in her hand and points it at Martan's face. She runs her eyes from the hilt all the down the gleaming blade, and at the cloth over his eyes. "Sword," she says with a devilish grin.

Martan doesn't move or say anything. Suddenly Gladia lets out a girlish giggle and drops her blade to her side. She attaches the blade back where it belongs and turns back away from him. He lets out a heavy sigh and continues after her.

They spend more time in silence. Gladia skips and bounds over every fallen tree and rock in her path with grace and agility. Martan envies her skill. He watches her from behind as she leaps over a large fallen tree, tucking her legs in as she does a front flip in the air. She lands on all fours in a crouch-like position. Martan lightly claps at her impromptu performance. She stands up quickly and looks back at him with a smile.

It was at that moment that Martan realized that he might be starting to like the girl, not just envy her abilities. The way that she moves, so swift and precise, is so intriguing to him. He shakes his head as if the shaking would toss the thoughts of her out of his mind. He climbs over the large fallen hunk of bark, and continues.

"Pardon me," Martan says as he catches up with her. "Your features are somewhat elfish." He looks on at Gladia noticing again her light green almond shaped eyes. He traces over her sharp but elegant cheekbones that go perfectly with the slim profile of her face. He shakes the thought again.

"It's from my father. He's an elf."

"Oh really?"

"I don't go about sharing information about being a half-breed."

"You definitely wouldn't look good with pointy ears though," Martan says as he stares more at Gladia.

"I agree, actually," Gladia says, trying not to blush. She's spent a lot of time alone, ever since she left her home in Ferelden. She's just not used to conversations, much less compliments.

The unlikely couple continues on for hours. Hours of endless forest, of endless trees, and silence. Gladia starts to have a feeling that there _weren't _ever five hunters at all. That Martan could've just said that hoping that she would bring him with her. The more she thought about it, the more she started to believe it. She looks back at Martan and he must've been looking at her again. When she turns her head towards him she sees him quickly look away.

They come a small clearing amongst all the tight groups of trees and Gladia sits down. She lets out a long sigh and then stretches her arms out high above her head, twisting her wrists in circles.

"I think we should camp out here," she says to Martan. He takes a seat on the ground a few feet across from her and sets his staff down beside him.

"What?" he says, making her realize that she's been giving him a strange look.

"How did you lose your sight?" she says as she props her elbow on her knee and rests her head in her palm.

"Something happened to me when I was born. My mother attempted some sort of ritual on me," he says. He then says nothing for a moment, staring down at the ground. The topic obviously upsets him, and Gladia almost tells him not to worry about it when he begins again. "It failed. In the end, I was blind, and she was forever disappointed in me."

Gladia looks away from Martan, feeling guilty about asking him to talk about it. _What kind of mother would do something to her own child that could harm him?_ Gladia keeps her head down, but eyes the ground near Martan. She does a double-take when she sees that the cloth that was over his eyes is now lying on the ground by his feet. She fully looks at him now, and he is looking out to the side into the forest all around them. He appears to be deep in thought, perhaps thinking of what happened to him.

"If it bothers you," Martan says as he meets her gaze. "I can put the wrap back on." Gladia says nothing, but shakes her head in a definitive "no". "I hardly ever remove it. Sometimes I just want to feel the breeze across my eyelashes. I know that sounds strange."

"No," Gladia says finally. "It's ok to enjoy the little things."

"Hmph, I suppose," Martan says with a smile. He then closes his eyes and attempts to sleep. Gladia looks at him for another moment before closing her eyes and preparing to let sleep take her too.

**Xxxxx**

***** Gladia's name is actually a play on the Latin word for sword, _gladio _*****


	3. The Witching Hour Pt2

Chapter 3: The Witching Hour Pt.2

Alistair slept alone, like he had been doing ever since—his wife—the Hero of Ferelden had passed. At first it was hard, her not being there beside him. He couldn't even sleep in their room for over a month. Then one day he thought he saw her lying there sleeping peacefully. He burst through the door, only to find an empty bed and no wife. After that, he couldn't help but sleep there, feeling like she was there with him.

And there he was tonight, resting quietly. He woke up slightly when he felt something touch the other side of the bed. He blinked it off and attempted to go back to sleep. He awoke again when he thought he felt something touch his hair. He flipped over to his other side, only to see a black cat sitting on the pillow next to him. _How did you…_the cat suddenly began to glow a bright golden color. In a flash the black cat with purple eyes transformed into a familiar shape.

"Hello Alistair,"

"Maker—!" Alistair yelled as he fell out of his bed.

"It's Morrigan," she sighed as she sat up on the bed.

"What did you—how did you—I thought you were dead?" Morrigan lets out a loud laugh and then scoots to the edge of the bed. She leans over to look down at Alistair who has sat up and pulled his legs to his chest.

"It will take more than an old hag dragon to kill me. Besides, that's not why I'm here."

"And why _are _you here?" He flinches as Morrigan stands and takes a step towards him.

"I heard that my son has gotten into trouble."

"Your s—oh. Right."

Morrigan walks away from Alistair and begins to pace slowly around his bedroom.

"Normally, I don't shy away from trouble. But I need to find him."

Alistair scoffs. "You and everyone else." He stands now and snatches the comforter off of the bed, wrapping it over his shoulders. "Why do _you _need him?"

Morrigan walks over to the window and stares out of it. She doesn't respond to Alistair at first. She just stands there for a minute, as if to come up with an explanation Alistair would actually believe.

"I need to kill him," she says as she looks back over her shoulder at Alistair. He lets out a loud laugh and then pauses, remembering who he is talking to. He briskly walks across to Morrigan and grabs her shoulder, spinning her to face him.

"You need to kill him!" he yells. Morrigan jerks out of his grip and leans back against the window.

"Yes." She crosses her arms.

"But…why? He's not even what you wanted."

"Not yet he isn't."

"_Not yet_?" Alistair says, shaking his head in bewilderment. "What do you mean, 'not yet'?"

Morrigan looks down and sighs heavily and places her hands on Alistair's shoulders. He raises his brow at her. "Oh how little you know, King," she says as she shakes her head at him. "Let me say this, if I _don't _kill him…we may have another Blight on our hands." Alistair is taken aback by the mention of "Blight" again.

"You're kidding, right?" Alistair stares down the witch for a moment. She avoids his stare and drops her arms back down to her sides.

"I am exaggerating the 'Blight' part, but still it could be bad. I should not have come to you." She crosses back across to the door, ignoring Alistair's glare still.

"Wait!" Alistair says, catching her at the doorway. "Why _did _you come here?" he says. Morrigan lets out a light sigh and then finally makes eye contact.

"Just to see the look on your face," she says with a crooked grin. Before Alistair can object, she quickly transforms back into a cat and runs out of the room.

**Xxxxx**

The air is cold and unfamiliar. Martan looks around carefully, trying to understand what he is seeing. _How did I get here? _He finds himself in a basement of sorts, but he doesn't recognize it. It's walls are dark and foreboding. He gets a strange feeling that he is being watched, but he is unable to move anything but his eyes.

A dark form comes close, but has no distinguishable features. No eyes, face, hands…nothing. Martan can feel his heart begin to race as he fears that a demon is trying to take him. All mages are susceptible to demonic possession, if they are not strong enough. Martan likes to think that he is in control of his abilities, but is not sure that he could resist a demon.

He breathes heavily and struggles to move against his invisible bonds. He can feel the figure getting closer, and it only intensifies his fear and will to escape. The form extends a dark cloudy shape reminiscent of a hand towards him. He can feel his blood burning as some sort of magic runs through his body. He goes to scream—

He catches himself with his elbows just before his face can hit the ground. The sweat drips down off his nose and onto the ground, making the dry soil slowly turn to mud. He stays there for a moment, catching his breath. _A dream? It felt…I felt…_His thoughts were interrupted when he realized Gladia was looking at him. He remains where he is, holding his head in his hands, not sure what to say.

"Martan?" Gladia says in a kind low voice. He lets out a small sigh and pushes off of the ground to sit up on his knees. "Are you alright? You were screaming."

Martan fiddles through his belt and his hands begin to shake. Gladia just watches him. Finally, a small bottle with a blue liquid surfaces, and Martan drops it. It rolls across the ground and stops right near Gladia's feet. She had been sitting there with her legs crossed, watching him. She looks down now at the bottle near her foot, it's instantly recognizable. "Lyrium?" she says as she picks it up. Martan swallows hard and then acknowledges her.

"Yes, I really need it," he says between short breaths. He watches as Gladia rolls the bottle between her palms for a moment, his anxiety increasing. She nods at him and tosses the Lyrium bottle to him. He quickly removes the cork with his teeth, letting it fall out of his mouth and into his lap. He downs the tiny bottle quickly, so quick he nearly chokes on it. He relaxes as he feels the Lyrium rush through his body, easing the burning and the tension. He wipes the sweat from his brow and lets out a long sigh.

"What just happened?" Gladia says as she readjusts to stretch her legs out in front of her.

"Occasionally, I have withdrawals from the Lyrium. It's unpleasant, to say the least."

"What happens?"

"What you saw," he says as he takes his eye cover into his hands. "First there are nightmares. Vivid, realistic, terrifying nightmares. When I manage to escape the Fade, my body burns in the real world." He moves his hands up to his face, tying the cloth back over his eyes. He looks back up at Gladia who almost appears disappointed, but he doesn't ask why.

"I still don't understand how the Lyrium gives your sight back."

"From what I understand, I am not strong enough on my own. I use the Lyrium to enhance my abilities, most of which I focus on vision. I'm not exactly sure how it works. It just…does. And because of it, I'm addicted."

"To your sight, or the Lyrium?"

"Hmm. Both, I assume." Martan sighs heavily again. _I'm addicted_, he thinks to himself. The thought pains him.

"I'm sorry." Gladia says, looking away from Martan.

"It's fine," he lies, not willing to trouble Gladia any further. "I apologize for waking you." Gladia shakes her head slightly and looks back up at Martan.

"It's almost dawn anyways." She stands up now and stretches her arms high above her head, her back making audible cracking sounds. "If you're ready, we should probably move on." Gladia picks up her belt that she had left hanging from a tree branch and puts it back on. Her two blades were stuck in the bark next to it. She removes them in one swift jerk and places them back on her back. Martan slowly gets to his feet. He extends his hand towards what was a fire last night, but is now a smoldering heap of wood, and douses it with a ball of water.

**[Author's note: I promise there will be more action soon! Wanted to get you basically acquainted with Gladia and Martan]**


End file.
